


The tower

by FromAnonymousToZ



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hieroglyphs: The Celestial Conspiracies - Talhí Briones: Inspired
Genre: Alternate Cannon, Aziraphale gets punished for giving away the sword, Biblical refrences are fun, But hey maybe rainy days are the worst for azirpahale becace he can't touch it, Crowley needs to stop going to visit aziraphale on rainy days, I mean, I'm giving Eve iron armor, Inspired by Hieroglyphs, M/M, Playing fast and loose with cannon too, We're not being realistic., We're playing fast and loose with history lads, We've got a couple of non-specific empires here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAnonymousToZ/pseuds/FromAnonymousToZ
Summary: The man wears a long dark cloak made of the feathers of a raven, or perhaps they are wings folded about his body. Locks of hair like fire roll across his shoulders. He approaches carrying a basket in the crook of his arm, the basket is filled to the brim with apples.The steps to the temple are not yet worn with age.The temple is circular, with seven pillars holding up a domed roof.There is a man in the center of the temple.He is on his knees, head bowed and weeping.The wings folded over his face are covered with blue eyes, dripping with tears. The pairs of wings upon his back radiate out and flex against the silver chains that hold them to the pillars.His feathers are strewn about him, and the man with the dark cloak does not know if they have clipped his wings or if the angel had torn them out in his own distress.The chained man’s robes flutter in the breeze.Inspired byartmade by Talhí Briones for her novel Hieroglyphs: The Celestial Conspiracies by Talhí Briones
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	The tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wheel_of_fortune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheel_of_fortune/gifts).



> Inspired by Hieroglyphs: The Celestial Conspiracies by Talhí Briones, specifically a piece of art they made for The Celestial Conspiracies.
> 
> Give the book a read, check out the art, give them a follow.  
> They've given me permission to post this story, and I'm very grateful for it.
> 
> [Check out the art here,](https://wheeloffortune-design.tumblr.com/post/189232848980/the-chained-angel)

When the woman, dressed in metal plated armor, sword in hand, entered the cavern the first thing she noticed was that it was damp and dark in the caves. She stalked through the darkness, her blade clenched in a metal gauntlet upon her left hand. The slow drip, drip, drip of water sliding from stalactites to stone ground filling the darkness. 

The cold fringed her consciousness and seeped into her body, she gripped her sword tighter in her gauntlet.

Her booted feet raise a racket as she troops through the caves, darkness hanging heavy around her, until suddenly a streaking golden light pierced the darkness.

When she emerged into the light she faltered in surprise, a cavern with a high ceiling and warm light radiating from lanterns hung about the chamber, the rough stone walls spanning high over head. 

And in the very center of the cavern a great tree stood, gnarled and twisted it grew huge even beneath the mountain. Coiled around the trunk of the tree was a great beast, a serpent, longer that 20 men laying head to foot, though she could not know this due to the way it was coiled, instead she felt it but she did not know how. A set of dark wings lay against it’s scales as it lifted a great head. 

It was no serpent of this earth, teeth so sharp and large they protruded from it’s mouth, tongue flickering out into the air, four sets of eyes focus on her after a long moment and the creature slithers forward, it’s head only a few feet from her face. Its head tilts ever so slightly in curiosity, and her hand tightens on the blade of her sword. 

She struck forward, bringing her blade down in a silver arc, and felt her arm vibrate as the sword shattered on its scales the silver shards clattering on the floor. It resonated up through her arm and into the core of her being. 

The creature drew back looking mildly offended, it coiled tighter about the tree and spoke in a hissing voice. 

**_What did you go and do that for?_ ** Its tongue flickered as it spoke. 

The woman held the shattered hilt of her sword before her as if it were unbroken, a mere delusion perpetuating the hope that she was not powerless before such a creature. 

“My name is Eve.” She grits her teeth. “My name is Eve, and I have come for a fruit from the tree of knowledge. I will not let it’s guardian stop me, I will kill you if I must.” The creature blinks at her. 

**_Kill?_ **The creature draws itself forward rising above her, wings flaring out casting shadow upon her.

**_Do you even know what it meansss to die?_ ** At her silence it asks. **_You think I am the guardian of the tree?_ **

She nods.

And it laughs a strange hissing laugh. 

**_Oh no, that’ssss not my job,_ ** It’s tail slinked up into the tree and drew aside broad branches, revealing a figure sleeping within a cradle of the tree’s great limbs. **_That’sss hisss job._ **

The figure robed in white has at least 6 pairs of wings, one pair folded over its eyes, one pair over it’s chest, one over it’s lower torso, one over its feet, the other two pairs tucked against his back. Each wing was dotted with eyes, closed in serene sleep, around its head a golden halo glows.

**_I, on the other hand, am more than pleassssed to offer you a fruit._ **

It’s tail gently plucks a fruit from just above the robed man’s head without disturbing him and offers her the apple. 

“Why?”

**_Why? Why doesss anyone do anything?_ **

Her eyes narrow at the creature, yet she finds herself reaching for the fruit.

Tentatively, she took it and sank her teeth into the flesh of the fruit. When at last she had chewed and swallowed she understood why this creature guarded the man in the tree and why the man in the tree guarded the fruit. She knew of death and life and what it meant to die and what it meant to kill. She knew of right and wrong and what it meant to be cruel.

She gazed at the serpent with new understanding, its eyes twinkled with mischief she had not noticed before.

She cannot speak, so instead she nods to the serpent turns to leave.

A voice rings out.

**Wait.** She turned and saw the man in the tree had shifted, though his wings had not folded away from his face the eyes on each of his wings had opened and glowed a blinding blue they found her in a sharp gaze.

**Take my sword, you will never find a more loyal blade, speak the word and it shall fight off the hosts of heaven if you so desire.** He reached to his belt and withdrew a sword that flared with golden fire. 

He threw it from his perch in the tree and she caught it by the hilt. The sword was heavy, the flames died down around the metal, leaving only gleaming bronze; the weight feels like an extension of her arm, melded to her hand.

She gazed at the apple and the blade in her grasp and looked up at them. 

Through the tightness in her chest she formed a single word.

“Why?” She asked, a single question with so much meaning behind it, but most of all, the question that rang truest:

_Why have you given me this burden?_

The two creatures gaze at one another and then back at her. 

They answer her honestly.

**_We trust you to make the right choice_ **

**From your loins shall come a civilization if you so chose, it is your right to have a choice.**

**_Will you mother them? Will you not? It is all up to you._ **

**Strike down Adam if you wish**

**_Or offer him the fruit as I have offered it to you_ **

**Whatever choice you make, we shall be on your side.**

And then the two great creatures fell silent, the man in the tree fell back into a doze and the serpent lowered its head, its eyes becoming unfocused and she nodded, and turned away, she understood.

She hoped her children would too.

* * *

The man wears a long dark cloak made of the feathers of a raven, or perhaps they are wings folded about his body. Locks of hair like fire roll across his shoulders. He approaches carrying a basket in the crook of his arm, the basket is filled to the brim with apples. 

The steps to the temple are not yet worn with age. 

The temple is circular, with seven pillars holding up a domed roof. 

There is a man in the center of the temple. 

He is on his knees, head bowed and weeping. 

The wings folded over his face are covered with blue eyes dripping with tears. The pairs of wings upon his back radiate out and flex against the silver chains that hold them to the pillars. 

His feathers are strewn about him, and the man with the dark cloak does not know if they have clipped his wings or if the angel had torn them out in his own distress. 

The chained man’s robes flutter in the breeze. 

The man does not look up when the dark cloaked creature approaches, his shame radiates from him in waves. 

The silence that spans between them is broken only when the red haired man speaks.

**_It wasss a very nice thing you did for them._ ** The red haired man stands at the topmost step of the temple. **_You gave up so much more than a sssimple sssword, it was very honorable._ **

The white robed man is silent for a long moment. 

**I did not know the cost of loving them.** The man’s teeth grit. **I did not know the cost…**

Suddenly those sets of wings on the man’s back are thundering against their bonds, snapping and stirring strong winds as those hundreds of piercing eyes focusing on the red haired man. 

**OF LOVING YOU!** The man roared straining against his chains, cold fire flaring up around his eyes as his wings beat wildly against his bonds.

The temple groans and the chains shriek but they do not give. At last the man stills, falling back to his knees, weeping, tears falling upon his robes and staining them. 

The red haired man does not flinch at the man’s outburst. 

Instead, the man calmly approaches the disgraced angel and sits down beside him. He inspects the apples and removes one of them from its brethren, polishing it against his robes he deems it suitable. He cuts it with a knife from his belt. 

Offering a slice of it to the disgraced angel he is pleased that the weeping angel accepts it. 

They eat in silence for a long while. 

A slice of apple passes from one hand to the next, the angel is quiet, the man is content.

**_Alllow me to groom your wingsss my friend, they are dirty._ ** The angel does not protest as the dark cloaked man rakes his fingers through thick molting feathers. The angel stares down at his hands as white feathers flutter to the ground and are swept away by the wind.

If the angel’s shoulders shake with silent sobs as tears drip to the floor of the temple, the man with the red hair does not mention it.

The warlord leads an entourage of a hundred men on horses. His long red hair tumbles along behind his helmet, his cape snapping in the wind. His dark armor gleamed and the intricate designs along his shoulders and hip glitter in the sunlight. 

Fiery eyes peer through the slits of his helmet as the hooves of his horse pound against the hard packed ground, blazed by hellfire to make it infertile. The thundering of his men’s horses sounds like thunder. 

His gauntleted hands hold the reigns of his dark horse. It’s nostrils flare as it’s flanks bead with sweat. His men have been driving their horses hard for days with little rest at his hip a sword flames and blazes with light.

The desert land they cross is featureless save a stone temple rising from nothing but the heated wavering of the sun baking the ground around it. 

When at last the temple was no longer a speck upon the horizon, but was instead a daunting structure yawning up from the empty landscape, the warlord pulled his horse to a halt. His men skidded to a stop behind him.

He dismounts and his men move to do the same but he holds out a gauntleted hand to stop them. 

He removes his helmet and leaves it at the foot of the stairs. 

His mounts the first step and the next follows easily. One step at a time he ascends until he disappears up the weather worn stones. 

They crane their necks to watch his accent and shift uneasily in their saddles, their steeds, unnerved by their master’s wariness grow uneasy.

An eternity seems to dawn around them before one of them moves. A great armored figure, with broad shoulders and a helmet obscuring his face draws his horse up beside the steed of a wiry man in leather armor. 

“Go, make sure he is ok.” The warrior does not look at the scout, his helm pointed towards the top of the great temple obscured by white clouds. 

The scout angrily mutters but dismounts and is dashing up the steps after only a few moments. The young lad reaches the top only steps behind the warlord, panting and out of breath. The warlord does not turn and the man quickly darts behind one of the great pillars.

He peers around the great stone column. 

A man robed in white sits upon his knees, a pair of wings sprout from his neck and fold over his face, eyes stare towards the ground nestled between feathers the color of milk. From his back sprout five great sets of wings, two sets folded forward about his chest and legs hiding his modesty. The six other wings hang behind him neglected, around them chains have been bound. The wings are horribly mangled by their bonds, as the boy gazes at this man, this angel his wings give a weak fluttering and six of the seven great pillars give a groan as the chains that span to them shudder. 

Around the disgraced angel’s neck a collar of shining silver connects to a chain spanning to the final pillar.

The warlord steps forward and the disgraced angel seems to sag, shuddering as those booted feet come into his line of sight. The scout watches with round eyes as the warlord unsheathes his blade. 

He holds it high over his head and the scout wants to rush between them to stop his fearless master from beheading this poor creature, but he is rooted to the spot watching in fear.

The warlord lets out a cry and brings the sword crashing down upon one of the chains that bind the angel’s wings. 

The sword shatters, silver splitting and reflecting the warlord’s startled and angry eyes a hundred times over. 

The boy’s lord falls to his knees before the angel, the broken sword hilt gripped loosely in his hands.

**_One day angel, I will set you free._ **His voice is defeated and low. 

The boy cannot bear to see his proud leader upon his knees in defeat, he turns and flees.

Back down the winding stairs he sprints, and when he reaches the bottom he does not know what to say to his fellow men. He simply shakes his head and tells them to make camp for the night.

* * *

Their armies come like a wave, the hooves pounding the dry baked earth churning dust into storms around them, bringing a sound like thunder with them. The spinning wheels of chariots blazed behind the horsemen as they ride onward in their conquest. 

They ride ahead of a storm rumbling behind them.

The fiery eyes of stallions blaze as the great mares throw back their heads rearing up against the warriors upon their backs. 

Onward they ride on soil so different than their home. 

A single stronghold sits upon the horizon. 

They ride merciliclessly sweat beading their brows as their armor glitters in the near blinding sun. 

The hazy sight of the stronghold solidifies into a strange temple stretching towards the heavens. 

As they ride forward the warriors lean into the mane’s of their horses, hands falling to swords on hips. The dust rises around their horses hooves and coats them in a thin sheen of dirt that stings their eyes but does not blind them to the temple’s approach.

As the structure begins to tower up before him their horses begin to rear in fear. Their flanks quivering, the horses would do whatever it took to throw their riders and scatter uncaring of the heat and certain death away from their masters.

Those who could control their stallions raced onward, those thrown bounded to their feet running to meet the great temple. 

The horses do not calm even as they reach the foot of the structure and the men find themselves pausing. 

There is no door at the base of the tower, only stairs curling up the tower into the heavens to a top veiled by clouds. A figure stands at the foot of the stairs their hair, like spun copper, hangs around his feet, dust clinging to the curls of it upon the ground. The man has two eyes that are as golden as the sun with slitted pupils that peer at them. 

“We have come to take this stronghold in the name of the Holy Empire under the good emperor-” A helmed man starts to speak, when he is cut off the man with red hair.

His lips do not move when he speaks.

**_Thisss place isss not your conquessst._ **

“You do not surrender willingly?”

**_No._ **The man’s eyes blazed. 

“Then you shall die and this stronghold will be taken over your dead body.” 

A storm was upon them then. The lightning blinds them and suddenly the man is gone. 

A great slithering body curled up the length of the giant structure, a great serpent’s head reared its fangs flashing against the rain, dark wings flaring from it’s serpentine body. 

**_Then come and take it._ **

The men surged forward, blade in hand as the beast’s eyes glowed like golden rays of a long lost sun. 

Blood spilled and stained the ground to rust. 

Swords shattered against hard scales. 

A muscled column throws them from climbing the stairs. 

The arrows break around it’s eye as the rain beats around them. The great beast’s jaws snap and a young man wails in horror as he watches his friend disappear into its gullet. 

Lightning flashes silhouetting it’s immense form in silver before darkness crashes around them once more, it’s teeth glitter as it sends them flying.

The rain washed the blood and dirt down from dark scales of the great serpent, cleansing it’s dark body, and staining the ground a rusty brown. 

And when at last the storm ends, drizzling away to nothing, the mangled corpses of men carpet the ground. Never to be found again, swallowed by the eden desert. 

The serpent observes them for only a moment before beginning a slithering crawl to the top of the tower. 

Between the great monoliths holding up the ceiling like Atlas holding up the sky came a great serpentine head. Through lengths of silver chains is wove and contorted to curl around and up against and a disgraced angel which shudders at his presence in this form. 

The great serpent’s fangs flash as its eyes glitter, its wings beat idly and brush against their chained counterparts and the snake closes it’s great eyes and tries to pretend there are no chains biting through his scales.

* * *

The ocean laps at the great tower spanning above and holding aloft the heavens. It’s great steps disappear into the sea and up around the tower into the sky. Around the tower the waters churn with the movement of a great sea snake. 

The ship’s sails snapped in the wind and the men danced through the rigging, culassas flashing. Their cannon fire dotted the tower with golden flashes as the serpent’s head rose from the sea. It’s movement sent the sea into a broiling froth, agitated, it thrashed in the sea as they tried to land a solid shot upon the beast. 

The captain howled as the creature’s great tail rose up from the sea, as it crashed upon their ship the bow splintered and the hull groaned.

The helmsman grabbed for a loose line only to be yanked overboard by the crashing waves. A powder monkey sent a wild shot into the air and struck the sea serpent in one of its eyes; the great creature convulsed and sank beneath the waves. 

There is a moment of silence as the crew gathers themselves and one by one they let out a cry of joy. 

Their slowly sinking ship did not dampen their hopes, better to die adrift than in the maw of a monster.

Their joyful shouts melt into peals into terror as the creature breaks the surface, leaping over the top of the ship and plunging back into the water and repeating the action entrapping the ship in it’s great coils. 

It squeezes and the ship gives a great groan as it begins to take on water faster. 

The first mate lets out a shriek of terror when he sees the strong mast splinter. 

The viper’s jaws close upon the poor first mate and the captain wailed in anguish, watching his closest companion disappeared in the muzzle of the great beast, his last memory of his friend a look of horror upon the poor man’s face as he reached between the prison bars that were the fangs of a great sea snake. 

The captain grabbed at a line, his care for ship and crew dissipating with the death of his first officer. He allowed the jerking line to pull him high into the air, his cutlass slices at the creature’s flanks but it is unfazed by the silver. 

The ship gives a last protesting crack as it splits to splinters within the creature’s twining body. The poor captain's line flung him wildly into the stone structure the monster had been guarding. 

Clambering for higher ground the captain watched as every last member of his crew were snapped up by the creature. 

The man watched as the great serpent turned its head at last and caught him in those intelligent golden eyes. 

He was far to high for the serpent to reach and so he watched as its immense head sunk back beneath the waves. 

He sat there for a long moment, tucking his knees to his chest as he shook, his first mate’s face imprinted in his mind. The structure was a great cylinder with stairs coiling up it’s sides into the sky, but he doesn't dare descend or ascend, stuck instead sitting and staring into the frothing sea, horror gripping the fringes of his mind.

Then there bellow where the frothing waves broke upon the stairs a pale arm reached and scrambled for purchase upon the sea worn stone. The figure hauled themselves up onto the stone and for a moment the captain’s loss was forgotten. 

She was beautiful, her hair as red as fire and damp, clinging to her skin. 

And then her eyes peered between tongues of fire locked with his.

They were the golden eyes of a serpent.

He let out a yell and turned tail to run. 

He did not turn to see if she was following, her hissing displeasure carried through the air. 

He did not know what he would do when he reached the top, he did not know what he expected. 

At the top a man was chained, wings like those of an angel sprung from his back. 

The captain stumbled forward and the man tilted his head to catch the sea man in his gaze. His face was covered by feathered wings dotted with glittering blue eyes. 

The seafarer stumbled back in surprise and the man reached for him but was stopped by the chains holding him fast in the center of the temple atop the sea. The man’s mouth was moving but all the captain could hear was the howling wind.

He backed up, tripping over his own feet and into the arms of the siren woman. He darted away from her and plastered himself upon one of the pillars. 

The woman bared her teeth and he noticed that there was a cut beneath her eye that was bleeding profusely. 

He glanced between the angel and the siren trying to choose the worse fate. 

The soft song of the sea below called to him, the salty wind comforted him and he chooses his fate. 

He had chosen her so long ago, and her cold embrace would be the best thing to welcome him.

He flung himself from the tower and into the sea hundreds of feet below.

When he woke up he was in a tavern’s only bedroom, his first mate laying across his chest their legs intertwined. He was so relieved he didn't notice the black feathers stuck in his and his first mate’s hair.

* * *

The man is of true Victorian stock, an absolute gentleman, so chivalrous and well spoken. He favors his right side and leans heavily on a cane, his dark clothing stark against his red sideburns. He comes to conscript one of their carriages for a long ride. 

He wants to take a ride to a place he can’t quite describe but assures he knows the directions to. They are reluctant at first but send him with an old stable hand to drive off to some place in the far distance. 

The man is incredibly polite to the old driver, but has his moments of devilry. He guides them out to a place the man has never seen, out past the trees and lakes and grasses to a desert the stable hand has never seen on a map. 

They seem to wander for several weeks, slowly chipping away at their rations talking idly with the man giving directions seemingly randomly. Then one day a structure appears on the horizon and the red haired man tells him to head for it. 

When at last they reach the daunting temple the man leaves the carriage and sends the stable hand home, telling him to follow the setting sun and not to stray. The stable hand protests but the man insists pressing money into his hands and insisting he could find his way back on his own.

After a few minutes of insisting the man sends the stable hand with the carriage on his way and turns back to the daunting tower.

The man mounted the stairs in his frock and hat, holding his cane in one hand and the brim of his hat in the other. As he climbs higher and higher towards the heavens the sky rumbles with thunder.

With each step the wind batters at him, whipping at his hat which he grips in one hand, his cane tucked into the crook of his elbow. 

Lighting splits the air like a lance, frying the air around it and making the world smell of sulfur. The air tugs at him, licking over his coat. He leans for only a moment against the stonewall of the tower.

When he finally ascends to the plaza of the temple there is no respite from the wind which tears between the columns. 

It begins to rain.

The rain does not touch them the roof shields them and the hundreds of books piled around the plaza.

The gentleman hums a jaunty tune.

**_Oh angel._ ** He calls. **_I have another book for you._ **

He walks towards the disgraced figure that seems to shy from him. He had thought they were passed that.

**Oh my dear boy,** the creature whimpers **I’m afraid I cannot accept your gifts anymore.**

The gentleman goes very still and is suddenly racing up to the disgraced angel falling to his knees. 

**_Angel what did they do._ **

The angel lets out a sob of a laugh and looks up at him. The eyes buried in his feathers are gone and his snow like feathers are caked with blood. The gentleman’s hand cups the angel’s face, carefully guiding away the two wings masking the top half of his face to hide his true eyes from a mortal’s gaze. 

They too are gone.

As the angel folds back the wings over his eyes the gentleman can see what they have done to his angel.

Four gaping sockets drip with bloody tears peer at him. 

**_Ssssshhhhh_ ** the gentleman hisses, for the first time in years having difficulty speaking around his forked tongue. **_It isss no matter angel, I will read to you._ **

The gentleman sits and cradles the angel upon his lap as he reads from the book, running his fingers through white hair.

* * *

The man is as stylish as he is mean when he buys the Bentley. The car dealer only idly notes the man’s sharp outfit and odd shoes before he is struck by the rudeness of the man. He pays well though, and in cash so the dealer sells him the Bentley.

The man may claim he doesn't love, but the Bentley knows. 

The man loves the Bentley and the man loves The Temple.

The Bentley becomes well acquainted with the ever shifting path to the temple. It has never ascended the stairs, but has waited patiently for its master at the bottom for sometimes weeks at a time. It has seen so many years and so many changes but the pilgrimages to The Temple are the same. 

This time is special, their master has brought some of the misbehaving plants to be ‘punished’.

From what the Bentley could figure when the plants returned months or years later it was something more like a paradise at the top of the structure. 

A place of books and plants and a creature the master called Angel. 

The plants always quivered with excitement in the back seat of the Bentley knowing they were going to see the Angel. 

The plants had heard whispers of the Angel, according to them he was as gentle as the master was cruel, as gentle as the master was rough. 

The Bentley had heard every rumor but had only once asked. 

The ivy was returning to the master’s house, it had dwelt for many years at the top of The Temple. 

_What is the Angel like?_ The Bentley so rarely spoke, it’s voice was as rough with disuse as it’s gas tank. 

_The Angel? Oh, he’s lovely._ The plant glowed, and the Bentley understood.

Sometimes the master will take one of the best of Queen tapes with him and an old cassette player tucked under his arm. Plants, wine, books, hardly anything ever came back. 

His master so rarely came back with anything, only once had he come back with anything at all.

It was a canister that the master carried carefully, it thrummed with something the Bentley couldn’t identify.

Despite descending the tower with a gift from the Angel, the Bentley knew the master was unhappy.

* * *

**_Angel_ ** The man croons, his hips sway as he reaches the top of the stairs. **_I have crepes._ **

**Crepes?**

The angel’s head turns toward him excitement fringing his voice, the potted plant in his arms quivers at the sight of it’s master. 

The angel, apparently sensing the plant’s fear turns back to it, shushing it gently. 

**Hush now little one, you look lovely, he won't touch you.**

**_Ugh,_ ** The demon scoffs. **_You’re too soft on them angel. They should be afraid._ **

**Nonsense my dear, I treat them exactly how they treat you.** The angel caresses an errant leaf of the plant in his arms. 

**_Ngk-_ ** The demon looks away, red flushing across his face. **_Shut up angel._ **

The demon approaches the angel who gently sets aside the plant and shifts into a more comfortable sitting position and clears away some of the scattered books and paper around them. 

The demon settles beside him, and with a flourish of one hand, miracles up a glass of wine to press into the angel’s hand before diving into the picnic basket. The angel hums pleased around a sip of wine as the demon fights with a package of paper plates. 

They eat, lines of banter floating easily between them. The angel's cuts his crepe into carefully sliced pieces as if he's done it a hundred times. The demon watches his angel’s hands flutter as the angel tells him about the most delightful story he just read and dropping, subtle hints we would be delighted if his demon would bring him another book by the same author.

When the demon glances back up to the angel’s face he nearly recoils in shock.

Chocolate was smudged all round the angel’s mouth and face. 

The demon breaks down into laughter. 

**Crowley?** The angel questions, his wings shifting in curiosity, a look of concern written across his face.

**_Angel, you,_ ** A fit of laughter floats around them. **_You, you’ve, you’ve got a little something-_ **The demon loses himself in laughter again.

**_Just, come’re angel, I’ll clean you up._ **The demon moves forward on his knees, groping with out looking for a cloth to clean the angel's face. His hands find a napkin among the plastic silverware and he swipes at the angel's face only to receive a hand to the jugular as the angel tried to push him off.

**Crowley!** The angel replied indignantly. **Get off me you fiend!** The angel valiantly tries to fend off the demon who, with uncoordinated flails, attempts to clean the angel.

He attempts with clumsy movements, shaken by laughter, to wipe off the angel's face, the demon leans forward as the angel leans away tipping them both backward, thudding into the stone temple floor. 

The demon eventually stops his wild attempts to clean the angel and goes still in his arms, his shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. 

They lay there as a gentle breeze rifles between them, the demon's wings spread as broad as the spanning chains allow as if to encompass the angel in night.

In the end they stay there tangled between silver chains and broad wings, both laughing, in their own garden of eden, surrounded by books and plants and stars.

Somewhere at the base of the temple, a Best of Queen Tape begins to play.

* * *

The woman is the nanny for the young Warlock and the babysitter for a sweet young lad named Adam. She has a harshly lined face as she holds the two babes upon her hip, strapping them into the back of a gorgeous black Bentley. 

If the people stare at her, in her dark glasses and her dark heels she doesn't seem to notice, speaking softly to the babes. When she gets in the car she removes the heels and sets them down.

She drives for a long time entertaining the babes with her singing, telling them stories of the beginning and their destiny, trying to refrain from swearing when the babes puke in the back of her Bentley.

The Bentley for it's part is only mildly inconvenienced and mostly amused. 

When she at last arrives at her destination, she gets out replaces her heels and unbuckles the babes and straps them against her chest and back.

She climbs the steps, all 777 of them, having long ago memorized their number, with the babes strapped against her chest, the weight is a different one, but comfortable.

When she reached the top of the great temple, the small jungle that lived in all manner of pots shrunk away from her quivering with fear in their pots. 

The books strewn about are an odd combination of traditional books and braille transcriptions, their creamy white pages face the sky. 

A man sits cross legged, his fingers carefully brushing over the pages. His head turns slightly the wings that cover the top half of his face ruffeling as the man tried to gauges the identity of the interloper. 

**_Angel. I have brought you the boyssss._ **The woman purrs, letting a hiss she had long ago schooled into her voice.

The woman goes to kneel beside the angel, balancing one babe on her hip as she gently took the book from his hands, marking his place with her hand. Into his arms she placed the two, the young Warlock and slightly older Adam. He peered down at them with eyeless wings and slowly the two wings peaked away revealing an eyeless face.

One of the babes in his arm starts to giggle.

The angel lets out a laugh, a weak and flinty thing, but as the babes begin to reach for his face, laughing and giggling with joy, the disgraced angel began to weep. 

Fat tears of joy stream down the angel's face from eyes that no longer see.

His laughter filled the air, turning it into a quaking thing of joy. He laughed and tears of joy drained across his face and wings. 

He cradles them against his chest, and when at last his laughter subsides he stares down at them with an eyeless face a soft smile tilted towards the two boys.

The woman sits beside him carefully grooming his wings trying to ignore the way the palpable joy radiating from her poor disgraced angel made her chest feel.

They will have much to speak of soon. 

They will have to make a plan. 

But for now, she can allow her angel joy.

* * *

**_I shall offer you a choice just as I offered Eve a choice._ ** The man’s eyes seem to glow, the dirt and grime across his face do not touch the blazing fires of his eyes.

**_You can choose their side._ ** His finger pointed upward. **_Or their side_ ** He pointed down. **_But either way, we will stand with you as we stood with Eve._ **

The man’s hand upon the lad’s shoulder is so foreign and yet so familiar.

Suddenly, as the boy stared up into those golden eyes he had known throughout his childhood, four bikes came skidding to a stop and their riders dismounted. 

The man with red hair slowly turned, his head moved slowly, the flicker of a serpentine tongue he had forgotten he shouldnt have wets chapped lips. His eyes were fixated on a single point. 

A woman, with hair like his own, held a sword in one hand. 

The bronze sword _burned_ in her hand. 

**_The ssssword…_ ** The man hisses, the forked tongue flicking between his lips once more. A hiss creeps into his voice.

The boy grips the man’s leather coat like a life line, and the man glanced down at him as if Adam’s hand had pierced a haze of confusion. 

“I don't choose any of their sides,"

"I choose my own side, I choose _your_ side.” The boy spoke but his voice was torn away by the whirling winds that had begun to howl. The man did not need to hear, he smiled a knowing smile of sharp teeth, it should have been a terrible wicked thing, but instead it was a thing of comfort. 

He crouched down to hold the young lad in his arms, and for a moment it feels like it did back when he was young and Miss Ashtoreth picked him up to calm him and sing him to sleep. 

The man drew back and gently pushed him away. 

**_Go, run up to the top of the tower, Aziraphale will protect you._ **The man’s voice is not stolen by the wind and instead rings forward. He pushes the boy away towards his friends.

The man with red hair turned to face the four figures before him. 

**CROWLEY** The man in black speaks for all of them. 

**_Death._ **The serpent inclines his head. 

**WE HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT** The man’s eyes flash towards the blade in the woman in red’s hand then back to the man in black, when he speaks again, his mouth does not move. 

**_Yessss…_ **

The four figures began to shift and grow, their daunting forms oozing into reality. 

War began to grow her hair turning into flames at her back, the sword melds into her hand and glows. Pollution seems to melt even as he grows, smoke and oil dripping from his shoulders his form slipping slowly into a growing pile of sludge around his feet. Famine’s arching body hollows, skin pulling papery against bones. Death flickers his dawning grip spreading and arching as it faded to something felt and not seen. 

The serpent emerges but even he seems small compared to them. 

He darts and whirls and snaps and wraps himself against their growing bodies and the fight has begun, the battle of heaven and hell and humanity.

At the base of a great tower five children stand staring up at the great creatures warring above them. 

Warlock squared his shoulders and grabbed Adam's shirt sleve. 

"Come on, Nanny told us to go to Mr. Fell."

And together, five children turned and ran, taking the stairs two at a time, up,

Up,

Up,

And into the heavens.

* * *

The disgraced angel’s head looks up as the frantic footsteps of children reach him. 

“Mr. Fell!” Their voices are so small and frightened. “Nanny told us to come here!” 

“He’s fighting the bikers.”

“He was distracted by a sword.”

“He said you would protect us.” The disgraced angel lets out a strange sound but calls them to him. They draw close to him and he folds his wings over them, the chains that have mangled them for years pull against him but he wraps them in a world of feathers to shield them. 

One of them is clinging to his wings and weeping. 

They are so small. 

He speaks softly, words of comfort.

**Shh, Warlock dear it will be ok, its ok to be nervous Pepper, shhh. Do not be afraid.**

There’s a shriek and the angel hears the beat of wings angled towards him. 

He flings his wings as far and wide as he could, catching the stray demon or angel in his wingspan and flinging the creature from the skies.

He drapes the children in one set of his wings, tucking them away from the world and listening carefully, two sets of wings splayed in warning.

Footsteps, heavier than those of children come up the steps and the angel rears up, his time as a warrior of the host showing itself as he made an intimidating figure of himself upon his knees, blind and sheltering children from the worst of a fight he couldn't see. 

**_Angel._** The demon pants. **_I have the sword._** The demon is beat up, blood runs down his face and his jacket is torn to rags. They do not speak of the horsemen, the angel holds the children tighter to him.

The children watch as the man raises the blade above his head. 

**_WITH THE SWORD OF THE PRINCIPALITY OF THE EASTERN GATE!_ **The man yells to be heard over the growing chaos as the denizens of hell and the host of heaven clash below them an ever growing tide against the stronghold.

The tower shakes as it is dealt a hard blow near its base. The demon stumbles but quickly rights himself. 

**_I REPAY THE DEBT OF THEE! FOR HE WHO LOVED HUMANITY THAT HE GAVE HIS SWORD AND WENT AGAINST THE ORDERS OF THE HOST! AZIRAPHALE IS FREE AGAIN._ ** And with a clash the man brought the blade down against one of the chains. 

Unlike so many years before the sword does not shatter. 

The chain binding one of his wings shatters. 

The serpent drops the sword.

The angel is on his feet and the serpent is scooping up the children in his arms. There are wings spiraling from the man’s back as the man leapt from the tower his wings giving a powerful beat after beat to save them from the free fall they’re in.

The angel gives a cry to the heavens. 

**LORD GIVE ME THE STRENGTH** He roars as he takes the binding chains in his hands and heaves bringing the columns of the temple crashing in around him.

* * *

There is a tower that has stood in a barren desert for nearly 6,000 years. 

On the day the hosts of heaven and the denizens of hell clashed at the foot of the tower it came crashing to the ground. 

It was said that a man emerged from the rubble, for he was no longer an angel and he had never been a demon. His wings, numbering ten sets in total were flared, his eyes blazed a brilliant blue, his true face and eyes revealed for all to see. 

In his hand a sword blazed to flame in the hand of its master.

He cut away swaths of their ranks with powerful gusts of his wings and swipes of his blade. 

Above in the sky a little boy in the arms of a winged man clings with his friends and rejects the destiny written for him. 

It is no fight at all after that. 

The boy has chosen. 

And they vowed to stand by him. 

And so they did.

The generals of the battle look from the boy, so high in the sky, and the quickly slaughtering twenty winged man slicing through their ranks. 

The general’s masters do not answer their pleas so they call back their men, demons scatter and angels flee. 

At last there is quiet. 

A weeping angel weeps no more and a red haired serpent begins to sob with relief when they stand among the rubble of the tower that had been their prison for so long.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Hieroglyphs: The Celestial Conspiracies by Talhí Briones, specifically a piece of art they made for The Celestial Conspiracies.
> 
> Give the book a read, check out the art, give them a follow.  
> They've given me permission to post this story, and I'm very grateful for it.
> 
> [Check out the art here,](https://wheeloffortune-design.tumblr.com/post/189232848980/the-chained-angel)


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